


falls in love every day

by Ship_theboybands



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: "michael falls in love every day", Gen, M/M, Sad Michael, cute french calum, hints at depression, lots of me trying to be poetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 13:31:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2694845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ship_theboybands/pseuds/Ship_theboybands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It goes like this; Michael meets someone brilliant, and falls in love.</p>
<p>He pines, and obsesses, and sometimes that person likes him. They have fun, and they have sex, and it means more to Michael than it does to them. </p>
<p>And they don’t ever love him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	falls in love every day

Michael is onstage, and he’s exploding in a good way.

It’s the first night of their arena tour, they are headlining _arena’s _, and nothing else matters except his guitar and his boys and a giant crowd of kids singing his songs back to him.__

__He closes his eyes, squeezes them tight, opens them again, and laughs when he sees that it’s all still there, all still real. He’d pinch himself, but he’s too busy doing what he loves, and the thrum of his heart beating against his ribs is enough evidence to tell him he’s not dreaming. The goosebumps covering every patch of skin on his body, the sweat running down his back, the way his throat hurts from singing so hard he couldn’t hear anything else._ _

__He smiles, really smiles, for what feels like the first time in a long time. He’s not even drunk, and he’s grinning from ear to ear, something bubbling up in his chest, telling him that he’s _alive_._ _

__And then it’s the final song. And then it’s the encour. And then he’s sitting on the dressing room table, feeling his high slip away like sand through his clenched fist when he used to sit on the beach, back home, at early hours in the morning during winter months, wishing his parents didn’t work late, wishing Geordie had loved him the same way he loved her._ _

__See, Michael has this thing that he does. It’s sort of a routine, at this point. Because Michael is a self destructive car crash boy living a successful and happy life, and he supposes he needs a way to balance things out._ _

__It goes like this; Michael meets someone brilliant, and falls in love._ _

__He pines, and obsesses, and sometimes that person likes him. They have fun, and they have sex, and it means more to Michael than it does to them. And they don’t ever love him back._ _

__Michael is messy, and mean, and difficult to love, and so every romantic relation he’s ever had leaves him eventually._ _

__After this, Michael drinks, and mopes, and lets someone he doesn’t know fuck him. He feels gross, and stops talking to people, and spirals into this pit, where he can’t see the bottom but he knows it’s dark, and then suddenly he meets someone new. The cycle starts again. Everything is wonderful, until it isn’t, and then it is again. He lets someone fix him without ever letting them know, and somehow believes that they won’t leave him. That they’ll be the one to stay._ _

__They never are._ _

__And it’s not like Michael thinks that this is okay. He knows that it’s unhealthy, and illogical, and toxic, and mostly his own fault, but he can’t stop himself._ _

__It’s like when you’re really tired, or moody, and you can feel yourself being irritating, but you can’t stop snapping at your friends._ _

__He’s strapped into his car, can see the collision ahead, but the brakes are jammed. He’s a car crash waiting to happen, but he’s squeezing his eyes shut, and turning the steering wheel, blindly hoping he can survive long enough for someone to save him the minute before it all explodes._ _

__“Mikey?” Luke calls him, and he stops staring at the label on his water bottle long enough to glance up at his face. Luke looks red, and sweaty, and excited._ _

__“Huh?” Michael asks, and he almost wishes he hadn’t gone on. He probably wouldn’t feel as horribly disappointed if he’d never had that happiness in the first place. Sometimes you don’t even notice you’ve been low until you get a short burst of life and it’s snatched away again._ _

__“You coming out for drinks?” He asks, looking a little less excited as he notices the expression on Michael’s face._ _

__He kind of wants to curl up in bed and sleep forever, but he wants to get drunk more, so he says ok._ _

__They go to a pub where some no-name rock band are playing, a little too heavy on the drums with an overpowering lead vocalist screeching into the microphone, meaning the guitars can barely be heard. Michael kind of likes it, though. He downs a few beers, and no one else is dancing, but he stands up anyway. Ashton and Luke laugh as he stumbles into the centre of the room, closing his eyes and spinning, arms spread out like he’s jesus. His head and his heart and his feet bounce, heavy and clumsy in his Doc’s. He thinks about Harry’s soft hands on his waist, his nice voice, the relaxed way Michael always felt when he was around him. He remembers them laughing, and fooling around, and the way that the tour had ended. How Harry had pulled away from the hug first, and slowly stopped answering Michael’s texts. Michael thinks about the way that he hadn’t even put up a fight, really, had let Harry slip away from him without much else besides a drunken answer phone message left in the middle of the night filled with _I love you_ ’s and other nonsense Michael can’t remember, which had gone unanswered._ _

__The song finishes, and a new one starts, and Michael doesn’t stop spinning until he falls down. He lays on the floor, for a while. It’s sticky, probably from spilt beer, and he feels it cling to his cheek. He can feel the vibrations of the music through his whole body._ _

__And then there are big hands around his waist, strong and sturdy, lifting him up._ _

__“Ashton!” Michael grins, sounding just as eloquent as when he’s sober. Michael’s always been able to handle his drink, can down two cups of whiskey and still walk in a straight line. Everyone always teases him about his old man drinks, but they burn him up in a way he likes, when everything is gray and he’s untouchable.  
“Hey buddy, what you doing on the floor?” Ashton asks. He mostly looks fond, and is clearly trying to make his voice sound jokey and aloof, but Michael knows that Ash watches him, and Luke too. He takes care of them in the big brotherly way in which he’s used to taking care of everyone._ _

__Ashton knows that Michael isn’t drunk enough to be laying on the floor of some stingy club, but Michael’s kind of done with always pretending he’s happier than he his. He’s always breaking his fucking back trying to cover up the way that everything always falls apart for him, and he’s tired of it. The whole cycle, the whole routine, he’s so tired of it._ _

__“Thinking,” Michael tells him, because it’s true._ _

__“About what?” Ashton wants to know, and this conversation is silly, they both have to shout to be heard over the music, and Ashton is still mostly supporting Michael’s weight._ _

__The music seems too loud, now. His head is thumping too hard, and everything is harsh, and he regrets coming out._ _

__“Can we go home?” Michael asks, looking at his shoes, knowing he’s ruining everyone’s night._ _

__“Sure,” Ashton says, like it’s easy._ _

__They all head back, quiet and tense, probably confused. Michael nearly tells them, in the car. He wouldn’t have to explain the whole thing, but he could let them know about Harry, couldn’t he? He could whine, and be heartbroken, and be coddled by his best friends, and that would be allowed._ _

__He stares out the window, instead, watches the street lamps reflecting in puddles, and focuses on breathing in and out._ _

__

__Life goes on, as it always does. Michael bullies Luke, and plays shows, and kills virtual monsters, and deletes Harry’s number, and avoids Jessica Origliasso entirely when Ashton says that she’s looking for him backstage. Touring is relentless, and they’re traveling the whole world, so it’s easy for Michael to simply throw himself into every aspect of it._ _

__The only thing that’s new is the way he lays awake each night, just staring into the pitch black, thinking. He could pin it down to Jet Lag, but he know’s that’s not it. It’s like he can’t shut his brain off, or shake the nagging voice in his head telling him no one’s going to love him. He doesn’t until 4am, and then 6, and then 10, and then not at all. He lays in bed until it’s time to wake up, and then he walks through the day like a zombie, and no one says anything at all._ _

__He’s in a hotel room, one night, in Paris. It’s hot, under the covers,and it’s 2am, and Michael’s given up on sleeping. He kicks off his blanket with a sigh, and stumbles over to the window. He leans his forehead against the glass, and looks out, sees the city, and the cars, and the way that everything is moving, thinks of all the broken hearts and bus tickets and hospital appointments and drug dealers. He thinks about how everything is happening all at once, and how he wants to be a part of it, wants to move forward._ _

__He puts on his shoes, and a coat, and topples out of his room, rubbing his eyes blearily._ _

__The night is cold enough to bite at his face, and he wraps his coat tighter around himself. He’s being very stupid right now. It’s the early hours of the morning, and he’s wandering around in a city he’s never been to before, but his sleep deprived brain doesn’t seem to care._ _

__He ducks through alleys and stumbles down high streets, shop signs illuminating the mostly empty streets. A few students stumble past him, but the night scene is mostly quiet in the areas he’s been exploring. He’s wondering why he hasn’t been mugged yet, feeling vaguely disappointed by it, when he stumbles across the cafe._ _

__The sign on the door reads _closed_ , he recognises with the little french he knows, but all the lights are on. It’s one of those ones where the windows take up most of the walls, so he can see inside perfectly, can see the boy, about his age, looking at him. _ _

__The boy is sat at a table close to the window. He has a huge mug in front of him, and a book in his lap, but he’s staring out into the night, staring at Michael. Michael stops in his tracks and looks back. This is not socially acceptable behaviour, but the boy is wearing a rumpled tuxedo, and on closer inspection there are actually at least five different books stacked up in front of him, and there is a story here. Michael is sleep deprived, and curious, and he knocks on the window. The boys eyes widen, and he walks over to the glass, pointing at the closed sign. Michael sighs, turns to go, when suddenly the sound of a bell ringing breaks the silence of the night. He turns to see that the door has opened, and the boy is poking his head out, frowning against the cold._ _

__The boy opens his mouth, begins speaking quickly in French, and Michaels remembers that, oh yeah, this person sat in a cafe in France is probably going to speak french._ _

__“Uh, Australian, I speak English,” Michael replies, and the boys brow furrows. He looks Michael over for a moment before he’s sighing, pulling a smartphone out of his pocket. He holds up his finger to Michael, and begins typing quickly. Michael is cold, wants the boy to invite him inside._ _

__“You are lost?” The boy finally says, reading off his phone, his pronunciation clumsy and unsure. Michael nods his head. The boy bites his lip, thinking for a moment, before opening the door wider, gesturing Michael inside._ _

__“Thank you- I mean, Merci? Erm,” Michael says, unsure, rushing into the warmth of the Cafe. It’s really nice. The walls are a warm honey colour, and the floor is dark wood.The room is big, kind of reminds Michael of a studio. There are some high tables in the middle with stools, and lower tables in the corner with squishy looking arm chairs. There are a few French album covers scattered across the walls, and a big abstract painting behind the counter made up of soft, pastel colours. It feels both posh and relaxed, somehow. Maybe Michael is just really tired._ _

__“It’s good,” The boy smiles, like he’s proud he’s remembered. Michael always kind of assumed that everyone in France spoke perfect English, which was very dumb of him._ _

__“Ah, Calum,” The boy says, gesturing to himself, and then raises his eyebrows pointedly at Michael. Calum isn’t familiar with his band then. Michael feels a little pleased about that, the idea that this stranger is being kind to him just _because_ rather than because of his fame._ _

__“Michael,” Michael smiles,“uh- J’aime, the, uh…,” he trails off, racking his brains for the word for cafe or artwork, but ends up just gesturing vaguely around the place._ _

__“Ah, Merci,” The boy smiles, and it looks genuine. They stand for a moment of awkward silence, before Calum gestures over to the table he had been sat at._ _

__“I can, uh,” Calum mimes a typing motion with his fingers, ”where you are losing? ” Calum bites his lip nervously, but Michael thinks he understands, so he smiles and nods gratefully._ _

__They sit in the corner, and Calum turns on his laptop while Michael looks at the books. He realises they’re all Shakespeare plays translated into French. He picks up a battered looking copy of Midsummer Night’s Dream, and wants to tell Calum that he was in this play once, but he doesn’t know how. Calum looks up from where he’d been waiting for his computer to load, and sees Michael looking._ _

__“You, uh, these…” Calum gestures to the plays and then does a thumbs up, twisting it into a thumbs down, and shrugging. Michael laughs, responds with a thumbs up. Calum opens his mouth like he’s going to say something before letting out a frustrated sigh. He pulls out his phone and starts typing again, before giving the phone to Michael. He’s typed something into a google translate page, and the English box says _I read to impress a girl who raised me , that's why i’m wearing a suit . they are too difficult for me_. Michael frowns, a girl who raised him?_ _

__“Your Mum?” He asks, “I mean, uh, Tu Mere?” he corrects, and Calum frowns._ _

__“No,” Calum shakes his head, taking the phone back. He tries again, passing it to Michael._ _

__“I had a girl that do not show up,” He reads aloud, “Oh, like a date? You were reading this to impress her? And the suit, right, that makes sense.” Michel nods, and Calum looks at him blankly._ _

__“A, un, copain? Who, uh, non, arrive?” Michael relays, remembering that the French word for arrive sounds like the English. Calum nods, and then they both laugh, proud of their success in communication._ _

__“Aha!” Calum says, once the laptop’s on, and he turns it towards Michael, “where you are losing?” He prompts. Michael types in the address of his hotel, and notes that it’s nearly four in the morning._ _

__“Uh, coffee? Before leaving?” Calum asks, looking up from his phone uncertainly._ _

__“Oh, uh, oui, merci,” Michael smiles, and Calum grins back, his eyes crinkling at the corners._ _

__The coffee is good, and the conversation is slow and weird and actually really rewarding. Calum is funny and interesting, and each time they work out some story or sentence it feels like he’s achieved something._ _

__“You telephone?” Calum asks when the sun’s started rising, and Michael realises that they’ve been talking all night and neither of them has even acknowledged the fact that they should both be asleep. Michael produces his iPhone, passing it to Calum who types in his number, taking a selfie with his tongue sticking out and setting it as the contact picture. Michael laughs, does the same in Calum’s phone, and starts heading back towards his hotel._ _

__Walking through Paris as the sun rises is beautiful. The streets begin to get busier the closer he gets to the hotel, and the buildings cast weird and intricate shadows over everything. He thinks about how easy it was to make a friend, and naviagte a city he’d never been to, and just take care of himself. He watches the shops start to open, people speaking rappidly in a language he doesn’t understand, and for a second he thinks that he could probably take on the whole world._ _

__He decides then and there that he’s going to break the cycle. It’s quite simple, he just has to remove the one variable which he is in control of: Michael is not going to fall in love again. His chest feels a little looser._ _

__They leave Paris around lunchtime, and Michael cuddles up between Ashton and Luke on the bus. He’d been convinced that the weird meeting with Calum had been a dream until he’d texted him a picture of the Shakespeare plays in a basket with a label saying they were going for one euro on it. This had begun a weird conversation made up mostly of pictures, emoji’s, and often wrongly translated phrases from google translate. It was nice though, having another friend, someone to talk to. Michael closes his eyes, leans his head on Luke’s shoulder. His good mood has gone, as they always do. He listens to the rain, listens to Luke breathing, thinks._ _

__They keep touring. It’s all pretty amazing. Michael is underwhelmed, as he is with most things these days. It’s weird, and he’s weird, and he stopped liking roller coasters when he was fifteen, when everyone else was screaming and he didn’t feel anything at all. They made him so aware of his own numbness, and he didn’t like that, so he stopped going to theme parks, and started smoking cigarettes._ _

__He’s smoking, now. He’s just finished playing a show, has snuck out to the back of the venue, when his phone rings._ _

__“Michael?” A voice asks, and Michael sighs. He closes his eyes, and lets the voice wrap around him for a moment._ _

__“Hey Mum,” He smiles, dropping the cigarette and stubbing it out._ _

__“Hi sweetheart, how’s everything? I hope I’m not calling too late,” She coos, and he can hear the sound of his Dad cooking in the background, the faint buzz of the tv playing the football, probably, or one of his Mum’s talk shows._ _

__“Nah, I just finished a show. Outside getting some air,” Michael tells her._ _

__“Oh, did it go well?” She asks._ _

__“It was incredible,” Michael replies, because it was. It’s good. It’s fine. It’s just that after-show blues still hit him like a fucking steam train, and he’s wondering if it’s worth it._ _

__“You alright, Mikey?” She asks, and he feels his throat close up. He should be. He doesn’t know why he’s like this._ _

__“I’m… I’m doing what I’ve always wanted. This is my dream,” Michael tells her, needing to pause for a moment to will away the tears. She’s silent on the other end, waiting for him to finish. “I, uh, I’m really not... everything just feels really shit. I feel like no one’s going to love me. I don’t know,” Michael finishes in a hushed tone, sliding down the wall into a crouching position. He stares at a bottle cap bobbing around in a puddle near his foot, leans his head into the bricks, pushing back until it hurts a little._ _

__“Oh, darling, I’m sorry,” His Mum dotes, sounding earnest and real, and Michael does cry then. He wants to go home and crawl into her lap, and have his Dad cook him cheesy noodles like he used to only be aloud on his birthday._ _

__“I love you, Mum,” He croaks, because he needs to hear her say it back._ _

__“I love you so much,” She says, like she means it to an extent that she can’t bear it. Michael looks up at the stars and runs up his phone bill just talking to his family, feels his legs cramp up from squatting so long, sits on his ass on the cold tarmac._ _

__He has to leave, eventually, and goes to find Ashton and Luke. They’re watching some horror film on Luke’s laptop, curled up on the sofa at the back of the bus, and he crawls over to them quietly, rests his head in Ashtons lap._ _

__“You okay?” Ashton whispers, fingers coming up to card through Michael’s damaged hair._ _

__Michael doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t know, and Ashton keeps running his fingers across Michael’s scalp. He falls asleep, and is gone for a little while._ _

__Calum becomes a weird constant in Michael’s life. They snapchat and text and have weird phone calls and facetime and it’s weird. Ashton and Luke still don’t get how Michael knows Calum, and a conversation with him that would have lasted ten minutes with either of them can last an hour between Michael and Calum. Mike’s getting better at French, though. Finds himself translating random things in his head, sometimes. Calum’s accent is nice, he is in general, nice. He’s this weird kind of dorky that somehow loops around into making him cool._ _

__Like, theres this morning, in Texas, where Michael really thinks that he’s never going to be able to leave his bed again. His chest feels like it’s physically caving in, and he’s just so sluggish, and unmotivated, and he can’t deal with it. Can’t deal with shows, or meetings, or car journeys, and he calls Calum. It’s weird. They’ve only been speaking for, like, five weeks, but he needs… _something_._ _

__“Bonjour Michael!” Calum yells down the receiver._ _

__“H-hi,” He kind of croaks, sounding pathetic and not really caring._ _

__“There is an issue?” Calum asks, suddenly serious._ _

__“I can’t get out of bed,” Michael whispers. Calum’s going to think he’s ridiculous._ _

__“There is issue with your arms?” Calum asks. He probably meant to say legs._ _

__“No, I, uh. I had kind of a bad breakup recently and I’ve just been, like… you’re probably not understanding me,”_ _

__“Non! I have, mon soeur, uh, sister, she has struggled with a similar issue,” Calum says quickly, quietly, “She likes lots of affection when this is the issue. I wish I was there,” He says slowly, being careful to get his English right, say the right thing._ _

__“That’s sweet,” Michael smiles a little, still feeling like he’s been drained of something important._ _

__“There is not much I can do, I remember,” Calum continues, cautious and gentle, “but you are very funny, Michael. You are a friend I am glad of, and, uh, you are gentil, sympa, uh..” Calum trails off, and Michael’s heart feels kind of like it’s going to burst._ _

__They talk for a long time, or Calum talks and Michael listens, and after a while he feels like he can breathe, a bit more. The weight of the world stops threatening to crush him, and he shakes himself a little._ _

__A year passes. Michael doesn’t date, and plays shows. He texts Calum weird puns, and calls him in the middle of the night, and factimes him until they’re both laughing so hard they gasp for air. The tour ends, and they go home, Michael falling into his parents arms and staying there for a long time. They write songs._ _

__Once winter passes he starts to feel a little less gray, as happens every year. He skypes Calum every evening, and practically speaks French as his second language. And Michael is flying out to see him in just a weeks time._ _

__“So, is Calum your boyfriend?” Luke asks, feet propped up on Michael’s kitchen table as he eats Michael’s lucky charms with an inquisitive look on his face._ _

__“No,” Michael says entirely too quickly, causing Luke to laugh. “Shut up,” He grumbles, zipping his toiletries into the back of his bag._ _

__“Ok,” Luke says, keeps eating his cereal, ”Hey, you’re going to be okay, going off on your own?” He pipes up after a moment, looking up at Michael with such sincerity he thinks he might, like, hug or punch him._ _

__“I wont be on my own, Cal’s meeting me at the airport,” Michael assures him._ _

__“Cal, the guy you only met once in a cafe in the middle of the night?” Luke raises an eyebrow._ _

__“Cal who’s been there for me this year. Just like you have,” Michael frowns, “He’s my friend. I’ll be fine.”_ _

__“Ok, just,” Luke finishes the bowl, setting it on the table, looking awkward and like he’s deciding whether or not to stand up, “Just take care of yourself. You’re important,” Luke mumbles to his hands, and then Michael’s surging forwards, wrapping Luke up in a tight hug._ _

__“I’ll be fine, Hemmings. I always am in the end, aren’t I?” His voice is muffled against Luke’s shoulder where he has Michael in a death grip._ _

__“Yeah. Yeah, you are, aren’t you,” Luke sighs._ _

__

__Michael likes planes. He likes buckling himself in, giving someone else the wheel. He likes leaning against the window, watching the clouds and cities and oceans pass beneath him. He likes the weird buzzing feeling in his ears, and how his stomach swoops, and it’s different to roller coasters. He doesn’t know why, but it is, and he gets that feeling every time._ _

__Calum makes him text as soon as he’s landed safely. He’s waiting at the arrivals section with a huge sign with his name on, which is so stupid, but Michael just runs to him, wraps him up in a tight hug like he’s wanted to do for so long._ _

__“Michael!” Calum shouts in his ear._ _

__“Calum,” He screams back. It’s weird. They laugh._ _

__Calum’s got them a taxi waiting, and he points things out through the window, and asks Michael about his flight, and the conversation mostly runs smoothly, bits of French and English and sign language and their own weird language._ _

__Calum cooks him dinner, and they eat in the cafe, and Michael realises that he likes Calum. He doesn’t love him, but he has romantic type feelings, and he drops his fork at the sudden horrifying realisation._ _

__“Something is the matter?” Calum asks, pausing midway through his story about puppies or something, Michael hadn’t really understood but hadn’t wanted to stop him either, Calum’s eyes wide and excited. Now Calum frowns at him, and it looks wrong on his face._ _

__“Fuck,” Michael whines, putting his head in his hands, and Calum gasps a little._ _

__“Have I done something mistaken?”Calum asks, panic rising in his voice._ _

__“No! I just… I just realised I like you,” Michael groans, because he refuses to become a pining mess again. He _refuses_._ _

__“This is an issue? J’aime tu, Mike,” Calum sound incredulous._ _

__“No, non, you’re not understanding me. J’aime tu, like, romantically,” Michael insists, resisting Calum trying to pry his hands away but his wrists, “And that always ends badly for me, and I’m sorry-”_ _

__“Michael, where is the issue?” Calum sounds so taken aback, and Michael glances up at him._ _

__“Because… Because I’m probably going to fall in love with you, or something, and then I’ll be _really_ fucked,” Michael tries to explain._ _

__“Why?” Calum looks so completely lost._ _

__“Because no one ever loves me back!” Michael shouts, his heart pumping fast in his chest._ _

__“Michael,” Calum sounds like he’s been sucker punched, comes round the table so he’s stood in front of Michael, “This is not an issue. I love you, already,” He says softly, expression determined, “I am not expecting you to love me also, of course. But J’adore tu,” He shrugs._ _

__And so Michael kisses him, on the mouth. He thinks of all the other times he’s done this, thrown himself at someone he wants, willing them to want him back, but then Calum cradles his chin so carefully. He touches Michael like he’s worth something, kisses him back slowly, languidly, like they have all the time in the world, and Michael thinks _Oh_ , because this is what it’s liked to be kissed by someone who loves you. And it’s not like anything else. Calum knows about all of his parts, about how heartbreak looks on him, and how he drags himself out of a pit every now and then, but he still loves him. Michael’s got dirt beneath his nails, and bags under his eyes, and a bottle of pills he needs to keep the chemicals in his brain balanced, sometimes, but Calum’s right here, pressed against him, telling him he’ll take it._ _

__And Michael doesn't think he loves Calum, yet, doesn’t think he’s been in a place where that was possible, but he likes him so much, loves how he feels when he’s around him. He thinks he could love him. He stands up, and loops his arms tight around Calum’s neck, shoves his face against it, and _breathes_._ _

**Author's Note:**

> ok so im embarrassed. thanks if you managed to get to the end bc the ending was literally so bad but i didn't want to just not post it because i like some of it? kind of?
> 
> i dunno. anyway thank you and i love you and hmu on tumblr @ christmascakeclifford.tumblr.com


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